


Robin Takes the Lead

by libraryv



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, My First AO3 Post, Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-30 12:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 19,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/pseuds/libraryv
Summary: Robin is put in charge of leading her first case, which involves a death ruled as accident, and a mysterious set of siblings. Strike is there to lend a hand, but as they delve deeper into the mystery, their long-buried feelings for each other threaten to take over.





	1. Chapter 1: Taking the Lead

Strike shut the office door behind the sniffling woman and took a deep breath. Looking up, he saw Robin looking at him expectantly.

“I know,” he began, “that for all intents and purposes, that woman wouldn’t be good for business.” He began ticking reasons off on his fingers. 

“Her brother’s death has already been declared an accident by the police. She has a spotty mental health history. Her family doesn’t want her to involve herself with a private investigation, and the fact she even came today against their wishes implies they might make our job harder in the future. And…”  
He looked back at Robin again. 

“..and she’s unable to pay us anything near what we would normally ask.”

“Right,” said Robin briskly, as she began to gather papers together on the desk, “I’ll rearrange the schedule for tomorrow so that we can meet her again at that restaurant she mentioned. Might as well start in right away.”

Strike grinned. He and Robin had always operated on the same level, but in the months since her divorce from Matthew, he’d been able to really appreciate it.  
He shook out his watch and glanced at it. 

“That’s seven. Fancy a celebratory drink at the Tottenham?”

Robin stopped tidying up the desk and smiled.  
“What are we celebrating?”

Strike pulled her cardigan off the rack and held it out for her as she shrugged her arms into it.   
“You taking the lead on your first case. This one’s going to be yours.”

“Really?” Robin stopped pushing her arm through and turned her head to face him, forgetting the proximity in her eagerness. Suddenly, she found herself inches away from his clear blue gaze. Taking a split second too long before stepping back to a less intimate distance, Strike cleared his throat before answering.

“Absolutely. You deserve it. I’ve been waiting for a case that wasn’t chasing around a cheating spouse, and I think this is it.” He addressed her as seriously as he could, trying to ignore the scent of her perfume flooding his senses, and the fact that he could still feel the slight tickle of her hair against his neck when she had turned her head. 

Robin, who had been waiting for this career moment for many months, couldn’t stop herself from giving a squeal of delight.   
“Yes, I bloody well do deserve it, don’t I!” 

Strike let out a gentle huff of laughter. They were still facing each other, and Robin wasn’t sure if she should close the distance between them and give Strike a friendly hug. At the same time that she stepped forward, Strike stepped away towards the door, and she dropped her arms at her sides, awkwardly. The moment that she had no doubt imagined, had passed.


	2. Just a Cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In order not to blow Robin's cover for another case, she and Strike are forced into pretending to be a couple sharing a private moment.

The cool October air that greeted Strike and Robin as they stepped out onto the London street was a welcome relief. The fall was unseasonably warm, and the office had been particularly stifling that day, with only an ancient fan rotating sadly and ineffectively on Robin’s desk. 

To Robin, the night breeze was not only welcome, it seemed filled with promise. Her first lead! Her mind was racing as she marched along, head held high. Strike glanced over at her, filled with a lightness of his own. To see her this happy made the long hot day filled with long surveillance and an aching limb worth it.

They were walking along beside a high brick wall that enclosed the park, almost at the pub, when Strike stopped suddenly, grabbing Robin by the arm and bringing her to a halt.  
“Shit. Is that Beaker?” 

Robin looked ahead to the figure in the distance heading towards them, wearing what was unmistakeably a lab coat. She groaned with recognition.  
“Yep. He can’t see me here, it’ll blow my cover –“

“I know.” Strike replied tersely, looking for a doorway to escape into. There was nothing, and the handful of passerby wouldn’t hide them. There was nothing for it. Pulling Robin towards the wall, he pushed her back against it firmly, keeping her body there with his own, placing both his hands on the wall on either side of her head. He leaned into her, dropping his nose to her neck, effectively hiding her and making it look like they were two lovers embracing. Would the pretense work?

Robin stood, pressed between Strike and the brick wall, heart racing so hard she was sure he must feel it. She was aware of his breath on her neck, warm in the cool air, sending shivers down her spine. His hair was tickling her ear. She tried to keep focused, tried to remember that this was just a way to keep her cover, but all she could take in was the fact that Strike’s body was gently pressed against hers. He was keeping his full weight from pressing onto her, and she could feel his muscles trembling slightly with the strain. Suddenly, he whispered into her ear.  
“He’s almost to us. Nearly there.”

Strike knew it was Robin’s quick wits that had her acting as her right hand reached up and gently tangled in his hair. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment, breathing her in. As she tugged her fingers through his hair, he stared at the soft skin of her neck, less than an inch away from his mouth. The thought of that alabaster skin underneath his lips…

Abruptly, footsteps marched past them, and Strike marshaled his thoughts back to the moment. It seemed they both stopped breathing as the footsteps faded away, then Strike lifted his head and looked over.  
“He’s gone.” He lifted his head entirely and looked at Robin. 

“Sorry about that. Couldn’t think what else to do, and we couldn’t risk him seeing your face.”

Robin’s cheeks were flushed. She smiled awkwardly.  
“Don’t be silly. It was quick thinking; I was just standing there.” She was aware that Strike was still hemming her in. Strike seemed to become aware of it at the same time; he pushed himself off the wall and away from her. The loss of his warmth and the nearness of him caused her to shiver and wrap her arms around herself.

“That cardigan is hardly a jacket,” said Strike amiably, shrugging out of his own coat and placing it across her shoulders. 

Robin laughed a little too loudly as they turned and continued their walk towards the pub. She was still trying to recover her breath. Their fake embrace had felt all too real, and just for a moment, it had broken her reserve that she had meticulously crafted for the past few months.


	3. Musings at the Pub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike reflects on the nature of their partnership, and Robin forms a plan for the case.

The pub was packed; there was a match on and the crowd at the bar was rowdy. Strike could make out three tables full of what looked like a rather drunken hen night in the far corner.   
“I’ll get drinks, you grab that table!” Strike shouted above the noise. He indicated a group of friends getting up to leave from a table just in front of them.

Robin nodded and headed forward to save the seats. By the time she had swept some crumbs off the table and sat down, Cormoran was back with a pint of beer in one hand a glass of wine in the other.

“Cheers,” began Strike as he crashed his weight into the chair across the table, “to you leading your first case.” He pushed the wine towards her held out his pint, smiling.

A thrill went through Robin as she touched her wine glass to his drink. The awkwardness over their embrace by the park wall forgotten, her mind had already turned to the woman in their office earlier.  
“I think that Amelia’s family has already written her off as unreliable. I know that her history in and out of facilities isn’t exactly encouraging, but she had such clear belief that her brother’s death wasn’t an accidental overdose. I just feel…I just feel she was telling the truth.”

“I know you’re not a fan of so-called hunches,” said Robin, when Strike opened his mouth to reply. “But what does she have to gain by paying us to investigate? Nothing, that’s what. So her belief that it’s murder – I think that’s real.” She looked down at the table in thought.

“The question is,” said Robin suddenly, pre-empting Strike again, “is whether or not we think it’s a murder.”

“I was going to say,” said Strike, raising a playful eyebrow at her, “that I also thought she was telling the truth.”

“Oh,” Robin smiled and took a sip of her wine, thinking. “After I meet with Amelia tomorrow, I’d like to check out her brother’s workplace. I have a feeling, the way she talked about how much Aidan loved his job, that there is bound to be lot of information there. If he really did spend most of his time in that office, there’s definitely some co-workers who will know more.” 

Strike nodded. He had been thinking the same thing, but was absolutely going to let Robin dictate how they would approach this. He had been watching her as she had been thinking out loud. 

In the past few months, Robin had become more relaxed. She seemed happier. The dark circles under her eyes that had threatened to become permanent after her marriage to Matthew had finally disappeared. Strike allowed himself an appraising glance at her under the guise of raising his pint glass for a gulp. She had been getting shockingly thin, but the collarbones now graced a pleasingly fuller neckline. 

There had been a time, after they solved the Chiswell case, where he had strongly considered making a move. His feelings, always kept carefully repressed, had been threatening to take over. Certainly, the line between their work and personal life had become so blurred that the next step seemed inevitable. Nick and Ilsa, Lucy, other friends had expected it. But Strike was afraid to damage the best relationship, working or otherwise, of his life. The window of opportunity passed, and both of them had continued on as they had before, settling into a careful camaraderie. 

Lately, though, the comfortable nature between them had seemed charged. After a few flings on either side, they were both single. Strike had been unable to avoid comparing every woman he saw and talked to, howevery innocently, with Robin. Tonight, with her beneath him against that wall, he had almost given into a mad desire to kiss her, to press his body into hers and show her exactly how much their “cover” had affected him.

“We should speak to the fiancée, too, of course,” Robin was saying. With effort, focused his attention back to her.   
“Yeah,” he agreed. “She’ll definitely have some information.”

“Alright.” Robin pulled out her notepad with a business-like manner. “I’ll take Aidan’s workplace, and you take his fiancée. I have a feeling she’ll be more forthcoming with you. I’ll call her and see if I can arrange a time for you to meet tomorrow afternoon. Then, let’s meet up at the office at five and compare notes. I’ll let Barclay he’s taking over Beaker for me, and tell him what to expect.”

“Sounds good.” Strike took a breath, weighing his words for a second. He didn’t want to sound patronizing. “I’m enjoying this – you directing things.” 

Robin grinned, buoyed by a sudden confidence. “Yes. Well. Glad to hear that, as you’ll have to get used to it. Me bossing you about everywhere and you liking it.” 

She immediately flushed. That had sounded far more suggestive than she had intended. “I’m going to get another glass. Want another-?” She turned and headed for the bar, Strike watching her go. Christ, it was warm in this pub all of a sudden. Bloody October and he was far too hot. He shifted in his seat. He was glad of the distraction of a real case. Amelia’s story had been intriguing, and he was looking forward to working closely with Robin.


	4. Aidan's Fiancee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike has an interview with the victim's fiancee and learns some details.

Strike sat across from Aidan’s fiancée with a patient, neutral expression. Something about his imposing height and size, at odds with his respectful restraint, drew women to him. Rebecca was no exception as she wiped more tears away. 

“God, sorry,” she half-laughed, half-sobbed. “I keep thinking I’ve reached the point where I think there can’t possibly be any tears left in me to cry anymore. And then I start talking about Aidan and…” she blew into her tissue and added it to the pile in the wastebasket at her feet. 

Strike didn’t say anything, but watched her kindly. Rebecca had been open and willing to answer any questions. She had a friendly manner, and had welcomed him into the flat. It was hard not to let his pity override the interview: this likeable young woman had had her life come crashing to a horrible halt.

“Anyways.” She gave her head a small shake. “To answer your question, yes, Aidan really did love his job to spend all that time there. I always thought that was a cliché – to love what you do. But he did. He really did.”

“And you never thought there was more to it than that?” Strike asked gently.

“You mean, an office affair?” said Rebecca with a small smile at him, surprising him with her directness. “It had crossed my mind, at the beginning. What man spends that much time late at the office? But then I got to know his co-workers, and they’re all friends. They’re all so passionate about marketing.”

“Which co-workers would these friends be?” asked Strike.

“Oh, they all got along at that place. To the point where it was annoying.” She smiled fondly and reached for another tissue. “But Aidan spent most of his time with Blake. And Steve. Oh, and the new guy. Matt.” Strike fought an inner surge of instinctive dislike at the last name. He made a note to check out the names he had just been given.

“How close was Aidan to his sister?”

“Oh, Amelia…” Rebecca sighed. “She’s…she’s had a lot to deal with, Amelia. So different from Aidan. She always seemed to be in the middle of some extreme problem with her job, her boyfriends…you know their parents were always very worried about her.”

Strike remained silent.

“Amelia was constantly calling Aidan, needing help with some crisis. It felt like I was always watching him leave in the middle of the night to go rescue her. He loved her, he couldn’t stand to see her in pain. He had eternal patience with her.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Rebecca put out her hand as if to stop an imaginary protest. “I like her. I love her. I think of her as my sister, too. She's a very up-and-down life, but…she loved Aidan more than anything. I think it was the twin thing, too, you know. People say the was a special connection, there.”  
Rebecca toyed with the frayed ends of the tissue in her hands, then looked directly at Strike. “And I think she’s right about Aidan’s death. I don’t think it was an accident either.”


	5. Comparing Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike compare notes from what they learned that day. Robin reveals a surprise clue to the case that forms their plans for the evening.

Strike looked up as Robin came through their office door and threw herself with a sigh into the chair opposite.

“Long day?” he asked her, watching her kick off her heeled shoes.

“Yeah. Learned some interesting things, though,” Robin said, smiling at him. “You?”

“Definitely. Aidan’s fiancée sure had a lot to say, and she was pretty adamant there was no accident. She also really gave the impression that he loved being at that office – what was it like?”

Robin sighed again. “It’s very standard, swanky marketing set-up. I met Aidan’s friend and co-worker Blake, who’s a real piece of work and a definite womanizer. Then I talked to the director’s secretary, who was silly and breathless and couldn’t stop giggling, and finally, I met the director himself, Linead, who barely took the time to look up from his desk before shouting at me to leave.”

Strike frowned. This wasn’t the workplace impression that Rebecca had given him earlier.

Robin stretched her arms above her head as she looked at him. “I know what you’re thinking – our two accounts of his life don’t add up, do they? God, I need a drink. His boss was horrible. He was shouting at me to leave them all alone and threatened to get security to lead me out of there.”

Strike’s protective instincts rose. “Christ. Did he actually do it?”

“No, I left pretty quickly after he started in. Didn’t need a scene.” 

“Oh,” said Strike, calmed but also a little disappointed. They’d have to get back to the office somehow, and the boss sounded like he was going to be a problem. 

“But guess which lead detective is at the top of her game?” Robin leaned forward and grinned at Strike.

“Who?” Strike grinned back, knowing the answer. Robin usually left the best for last.

“Robin Ellacott, of course,” said Robin smugly, tossing Strike a set of small keys. 

Strike caught them and turned them over, then looked at her. “These aren’t what I think they are?”

Robin leapt up from the chair. “Yes, they are! Linead’s office door keys. I told you the secretary was silly, but I didn’t tell you that I had a rather long time with her before the boss let me in. She recently broke up with her fiancé, you know. Cheated on.”

Strike looked at her carefully for how this similarity to her own life affected her, but she kept on talking; it hadn’t phased her. 

“So of course that was my in – I joined her in complaining about cheating bastards and all of a sudden she came over and gave me a hug and said she always liked Aidan. She thinks it’s a horrible thing that happened and if we can help his family after his death, why of course we should have access and see if there’s anything the police missed.” 

Strike stood up, too, and walked towards her, holding up the keys. “Robin, this is bloody good work. You always know how to talk to people.”

Robin put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “Well,” she said, “do you fancy giving those keys a try?” 

“Right now?” Strike raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think-“

“Ah, I know what you’re thinking.” Robin interrupted eagerly. “It wouldn’t have be right to use the keys without the alarm code to the front door, would it?” Robin pulled a piece of paper from her pocket with a triumphant flourish.

Strike barked a laugh. “Ellacott, you never cease to surprise me. How in the hell did you get that?”

“Well, Aidan was very well-liked, but the boss isn’t. Something’s going on between him and his staff, that’s clear…and the two women that I chatted to in the lift on my way out had seen Mr. Linead yelling at me. We talked all the way down and I was careful to note the code as they left with me. They weren’t very careful with the keypad, but I was trying hard to keep them distracted. I don’t know if it’s good for opening as well as locking, but there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

She stepped back into her shoes, waiting for his reaction.

Strike made a show of shrugging his shoulders. “Only one way,” he repeated, smiling.


	6. Breaking into the Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike face their first forced entry and get met with an unwelcome occurrence.

“It’s worked!” Robin hissed under her breath. The message on the door keypad flashed. 

_Press 0 to continue to disarm._

Strike shook out his cigarette from his lookout a few feet away and hastily joined her at the door. Robin pressed 0 and heard the electronic lock on the door disengage. She gave a tentative tug and slid inside, Strike giving a last glance behind him before following quickly. The empty stillness of the lobby muffled the sounds of the London street outside.

They stopped and faced each other, smiling. They were in. Strike looked up and saw that Robin had been right; on their way she had mentioned the lack of security cameras in the building. Odd, but it certainly worked in their favor tonight.

Strike gave her a nod and they padded quietly to the lift, instinctively being quiet. Robin had made innocent inquiries into office hours, and she was certain the cleaners would have left by now. They should be alone, but caution still overrode their actions.

They got into the lift. Robin pressed “5” for the top floor, her finger shaking. Adrenaline and the reality of being inside the office was starting to hit her system. 

“Mr. Linead?” Strike guessed, watching Robin press the button. She nodded at him, and the lift started to climb. 

Robin gave herself a mental shake and tried to get a grip. She had never before broken into an office after hours, key or not, and the reality of the task they were facing had her pulse racing. What were they looking for, exactly? What would they find?

She glanced at Strike's profile. He was staring comfortably ahead, seemingly unbothered. How could he always remain so cool? Had he done anything like this before?

The lift pinged and the doors slid open. Strike raised his eyebrows and braced his arm across the door, indicating he would go first. She watched him look to both sides. He glanced back and gave her another nod, then turned aside to let her through, holding his arm against the door for her. 

Robin practically tiptoed down the long hallway past the glossy long secretary’s desk and reached into her pocket for the keys. When she reached the door she tried one, trying to steady her hand. She could feel Strike’s comforting presence beside her. The first key didn’t work; it must open something else. She tried the second; no luck. Had it all been for nothing? Was it the secretary’s idea of a joke? The third key turned in the lock. Robin looked up at Strike. His blue eyes looked into hers, his expression unreadable. This was her case, and this was her call. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open. 

Walking into the office, Robin had a moment’s unpleasant flashback to earlier in the afternoon, where Linead had shouted at her to leave. Why had he been so desperate to have her go? Was it a simple invasion of privacy, or was the man hiding something? Strike headed over to a filing cabinet, and Robin walked to the desk. Unlike the messy state she had seen it in earlier, there was nothing on its sleek surface save a computer, a silver picture frame, and an expensive arrangement of orchids. 

Strike turned and whispered over his shoulder. “Bloody locked, but that’s to be expected. Want to try those other keys?”

Robin walked over to him with the keys out. Strike took them from her hand, which he noticed was cold and clammy. He knew this was a big thing for her to be doing; this was crossing a particularly different kind of line for her. He gave her an encouraging wink as he took the keys from her fingers. He was just putting the first key to the locked drawer at the top when both of them heard an unmistakeable ping of the elevator down the hall outside. 

Robin shared a quick, panicked glance with Strike, who immediately hissed a curse and pocketed the keys. They moved quickly towards each other.


	7. The Elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike try to make an escape, but the elevator has other plans.

“Shit,” Robin whispered. She barely kept from wringing her hands. The desk was no place to hide – it was open underneath. She paced away from Strike, towards the door and risked a glance down the hall. Shadowed figures could be seen standing and mumbling at the lift. She turned to Strike. 

“Shit!” 

Strike didn’t need to ask what she meant. He moved quickly. He grabbed her hand and led her towards the back of the office.  
“From the elevator?” he hissed.

“Yes!” she couldn’t keep the panic from her reply.

“Alright. Hang on.” Strike motioned for her to stay still. They could both hear footsteps heading their way, then stopping. 

More talking from outside the frosted glass. One sounded angry. Robin’s mind raced. What would they do? How would they explain this? Who was out there?

Abruptly, the voices stopped and they could hear footsteps retreating back towards the elevator. Robin was aware of her and Strike, pressed into the back corner, barely breathing as they waited for the sound of the elevator to descend.

After a minute that seemed much longer, Strike drew a breath.  
“Right. I’d say that was our cue to leave.” 

Robin couldn’t agree more. They both moved rapidly to the office door and looked out. An empty hallway greeted them. At the elevator, Robin pushed the button. Would the mysterious people still be inside? They could only hope the visitors had actually left. The doors opened; empty.

She practically flung herself into the lift and jabbed the close-door buttons. Strike quickly followed, and as if in slow-motion, the lift began its descent. 

Not quite home free, but mostly in the clear, Robin drew a shaky breath. She hadn’t realized how close she and Strike were standing. She looked over at him just as he looked down at her, breathing heavily, eyebrows raised. 

“That was –“ Robin began.

Suddenly, the elevator dropped a foot and slammed to a halt. Robin gasped and lost her footing, Strike grabbed onto her and held her steady, just before overbalancing on his bad leg. He fell to the floor with an awkward thud, taking her with him. They landed in a heap, Robin’s elbow hitting him in the stomach and his bad leg twisting awkwardly out. 

“Fuck!” Strike gasped out. 

The lights flickered, and went out.

“Fuck,” Strike said again, in the dark, as they both tried to untangle themselves. “Are you alright?” 

She was half caught in his lap, half on the floor. She tried unsuccessfully to grab a hold of something to pull herself up off of him, but her hands touched nothing but flat wall.

“I’m fine, I caught you in the stomach – you okay?” She tried again to raise herself up, her arms scrabbling on the floor. 

“It’s okay, just, stop moving for a second.” He heaved himself over with a grunt of pain, managing to sit up, back against the corner. He pulled her upright with him, her back against his stomach. They were both breathing hard. Strike’s hands landed on her hips and stilled her, firmly telling her without words to stay there until they caught their breath. 

Robin couldn’t see anything as the seconds ticked by. The dark made everything else stand out in stark relief: the warmth of Strike’s body, his soft breath on the back of her neck as he fought to breathe evenly, how sturdy he felt beneath her, his solid chest rising and falling rapidly against her back. She tried not to think about the curve of her bottom settled right in his lap.

“Okay,” Strike breathed quietly into her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. “There’s a handrail above my head to the right. Can you find it.” 

Robin reached up, her weight on his lap shifting slightly, and instantly became aware of an unmistakeable hardness there. 

Strike didn’t quite succeed in biting back a groan in the back of this throat. 

Robin dropped her hand. “Cormoran, are you –“

“I'm fine,” Strike said. There was an edge to his voice. 

Robin reached up again, her fingers sliding in the darkness until the hit the brass roundness of a hand rail. Her face was flushed. 

“I’ve…I’ve got it,” she whispered, half turning her head to whisper over her shoulder. 

“Okay,” came Strike’s reply, inches away from her own mouth.

Time stood still for a moment: Robin was fighting against the rising desire flooding through her. 

She grabbed the handrail and shifted off his lap, managing to pull herself first to her knees, then to standing. She was shaking, from adrenaline, from fear, and something else she couldn't name. She felt weak in the knees. She had always assumed that was just an expression, but here she was, barely able to stand without half-leaning on the wall.

Suddenly remembering the matter at hand, she reached a hand down to Strike’s shoulder. She felt her way to his arm, then his hand, which she guided to the rail.  
“I’ll help you up, just grab here-“

Strike leaned into her a bit and heaved himself up, grabbing the rail, then, stood up, his back to the wall.

The atmosphere was electric. Robin didn’t know what to say. They had shared something, on the elevator floor. They had been so lost in the moment that it just occurred to her now: they were trapped.


	8. Let's Get Out of Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike brush off a near-miss, and realize the evening wasn't a complete loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say thank you for all the wonderful comments? I was hit by a sudden Strike withdrawal over the weekend, and this is my very first attempt at fanfiction (of any kind.) I've been walking around all day with a huge grin because of the lovely kudos and feedback. You guys are awesome. :D

Strike tried to get his bearings. He mentally reprimanded himself for his loss of control. With Robin sitting on his lap, he had completely forgotten where he was or what he was doing. The usual clichés had run through his thoughts: baseball, cleaning the kitchen sink, cutting the grass…but Robin’s neck in front of his throat and her firmly in his lap had been all he could think about. 

He knew she had felt him, and there had been a moment there, where they had almost…

But reality was reality. He couldn’t go around hoping for stolen moments, falling around in dark, stalled lifts. His current reality, he thought bitterly, was that he was fucking trapped in one, in an office building that they definitely shouldn’t be in. He gave himself an internal shake, and said, into the darkness,

“There’s bound to be a call button on the panel.” He paced a few steps forward, hands out, and felt the cool steel button panel.

Robin straightened the collar of her blouse back into place. There was still no light in the elevator – she couldn’t see Strike’s face. She felt the edges of his coat brush against her as he moved around, no doubt focused on finding the lift buttons. 

He had sounded very calm and collected just then, Robin noted. The atmospheric electricity between them had faded. That was for the better, she told herself sternly. She could blame the whole strange moment on adrenaline. 

“Found it,” came Strike’s voice. “I suppose we have to-?”

She knew what he was asking. Calling for help would expose them as two people in an office building, long after opening hours. They had no reason to be there, and no good explanation for the set of office keys residing in Strike’s pocket.

Robin was suddenly exhausted. The thrill of breaking in, the adrenaline of running, the whole roller coaster ride of being trapped with Strike had her suddenly wishing she were at home in bed.  
“Yes, I suppose we have to.” She sighed. 

Strike desperately wished for a cigarette. He hand was hovering over the call button. The lights flickered suddenly back on.

Robin let out a startled, “Oh!” and looked at Strike, who returned her gaze steadily, his expression unfathomable. With a whining of gears and a bit of a shudder, the lift once again began to go down.

Strike suddenly smiled and reached for her hand, giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze. “As they say in the movies, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Robin, who had angrily wished herself anywhere else mere moments ago, found that Strike’s squeeze of her hand was exactly what she needed just then. 

The lift stopped, and the door slid open. Half expecting a crowd of police waiting, the empty lobby seemed strange and vast after their time in the lift. Robin looked out and saw no one. She and Strike walked hastily to the door, and stepped out onto the street.

They walked a block in relieved silence, each breathing the night air and mulling over the events of the evening’s close call. 

“Here’s what I wonder,” said Strike suddenly, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Who were those people coming up the lift after us? And did the lift stop because of a malfunction?” That’s an awfully strange coincidence, isn’t it, for that to happen while we’re in it?”

Robin thought a moment, then said, “Do you know what’s even stranger? You remember the silver frame on Linead’s desk?”

Strike nodded. 

Robin looked at him. “The picture inside was of Aidan – with his arm around his sister, Amelia.”


	9. More Questions Than Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike reflect on the case; Strike comes to a private realization.

“Why on earth does Linead have a picture of Aidan and Amelia on his desk?” Robin said again. She lay her elbows on the desk and put her face in her hands, groaning with frustration.

Strike exhaled, smoke from his cigarette mingling with the late-night air from the open window. He glanced at his watch. 2:18 am. They had been discussing the case for hours, going in circles and getting nowhere.

He looked over to the top of Robin’s red-gold head. “When Amelia came here and asked me to take the case, she was distraught, but also quite nonsensical. She kept going on about “the things I know” but wouldn’t give me any details.” 

Robin looked up at him through her fingers, then removed her head from her hands and forced herself to sit up straight. 

“I think it’s time we talked to her again,” Robin yawned. “And Rebecca, too. There’s so much that points to Aidan leading two different lives. Rebecca had to be living in some kind of denial.” A thought occurred to her, which she filed away for later. She stood up and stretched with her eyes closed, pulling her arms behind her. 

Strike tried to ignore the way her blouse tightened across her chest as she stretched and failed horribly. He cleared his throat with more vigor than necessary.  
“You did well tonight, Robin. Forced entry is always risky.”

She opened her eyes and gave an amused huff. “That was rather a lot of trouble we went through to find that we only have more questions than answers.”

Strike nodded, then said, “In my experience, raising more questions is only another way to say you’re learning more.”

Robin gathered her purse and stepped into her shoes, absorbing this. She walked to the door.  
“Well, I’m going to grab some sleep. I’m meeting Aidan’s friend Blake tomorrow morning for coffee, hopefully he’ll give us some more answers, or,” she added, rather teasingly, “raise some more questions.”

“No, don’t get up,” she said to Strike, who was bracing himself to stand, “give that leg a good rest.”

Strike gave her a nod and a wave of his hand as she opened the door and stepped out.

“Still,” Robin’s head came back into view from the doorway, grinning at him. “It was rather fun, wasn’t it?” She left again, the sound of her footsteps echoing briskly down the stairs.

Strike put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill and watched a laughing couple weave their way out of a pub, arm in arm. He realized with surprise that observing the couple made him feel slightly envious. He was suddenly aware of his empty office and the single camp bed waiting for him upstairs. His mind recalled, with aching clarity, the sensation of Robin on his lap in the lift, his hands at her waist. Tonight, that line between their working and personal lives had been crossed again, and Strike found that he didn’t mind at all.


	10. Blake Griffin Raises More Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin interviews Aidan's friend and colleague and learns an interesting piece of news.

“God, is it already 20 past?” Blake Griffin said, making a show of looking at his designer watch before sitting down across from Robin. “Sorry about that - not good manners to keep a girl waiting,” he said, flashing Robin a smile that showed off perfectly even, perfectly white teeth.

There was no denying, admitted Robin to herself, that Blake Griffin was extremely attractive. Tall and slim, he filled out his suit nicely. His dark hair was expensively cut, and his striking features were drawing glances from the table of young women sitting across from them. 

“I’ve already got coffee for us,” said Robin, watching him as he took out his mobile phone and typed away at it. “I haven’t ordered food.”

“Sounds good, sounds good,” said Blake absently. He pocketed it and smiled at her again, his green eyes sweeping to her chest and back to her face.

Robin noticed his glance, and was a little angry at herself for finding it flattering. 

“So you want to know about Aidan?” Blake sat back comfortably in his chair, assessing her. That crazy sister of his hired you, right? I thought there were two of you?”

Robin ignored his last comments. “How did Aidan get along with your boss, Mr. Linead?”

Blake rolled his eyes. “Not well. I mean, Aidan was always very professional, he was good at his job – exceptionally good eye. He was Linead’s favourite, actually. But Linead was so hard on him. Just – he puts pressure on all of us, but god, it was like he hated Aidan at the same time that he wanted him to be the best. Aidan used to call him Professor S.”  
Robin’s pen flew across her notepad. “Professor S?”

“Yeah, you know, as in Snape. As in, Harry Potter?” Blake was looking at his phone again.

Robin fought against a smile. She glanced at her questions.

“And all of you socialize outside of work?”

An expression of sadness crossed Blake’s face and he put his phone down. “Yeah. Aidan was a lot of fun. He was just the best, you know? I’m really going to miss him. Nothing compared to how Steve’s feeling, I’m sure.”

Robin stopped writing. “What makes you say that?”

Blake stared at her, and said, a little sarcastically, “Well, Steve being the boyfriend, he’s pretty depressed, isn’t he?”

Robin hid her reaction to this news with an arch of her eyebrows. “Have you met Rebecca?”

It was Blake’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Rebecca.” Robin watched his face.

Blake looked genuinely confused. “Maybe? Is that one of Amelia’s friends?” He shook his head, and waved the server over. Blake asked for more coffee, Robin’s mind racing. The server left, Blake making no efforts to hide his appraisal of her behind as she walked away.

“So what’s your deal?” said Blake, turning towards Robin. “Do you like being an investigator? It’s bloody hot, to be honest.”

Robin was not above turning on the charm to get more answers. She smiled at him and held his gaze. “I love it.” 

Blake grinned. “What are you doing tonight? You should come to the launch party we’re throwing for the account we’ve been working on. It’s for an energy drink. Do you know where Station is? That new club?”

Robin nodded and flipped her notepad closed. “I know it. It’s supposed to be good.”

Blake leaned forward, capturing her hands. “Excellent. I’ll put your name down, plus one. Bring a friend. And wear something to show off that body, yeah? We’ve got the place booked as of 9 pm. Be prepared for a good time.” He winked.

Robin withdrew her hands from his. “Thanks. I will be.” She grabbed her wallet from her purse. “Are you getting any food?” 

Blake shook his head. “I’ve got to run, actually.” He stood up. Robin saw the women from the table throw glances at him again. 

“See you tonight, Miss Investigator.” Blake winked again, then strode out of the café as if he owned it. 

Robin took out her phone and texted Strike:

_Found out some interesting news from Blake. I’ve got an in with him. Be ready for a company launch party tonight. The Station club, at 9. I’ll meet you at the Tottenham for a catch-up before, at 8 pm._

She sat, sipping the last of her coffee. So, Aidan had been gay. And apparently, also had a fiancée who was completely oblivious to the fact. Or was Rebecca oblivious as she seemed?  
Her phone buzzed; Strike had replied:

_Good work. See you at Tottenham at 8._

Robin stood up and left money on the table for her drink. She had a party dress to buy.


	11. Liquid Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike share drinks and reflect on the case before a (working) evening out.

Strike was in a bad mood. Barclay had called in with a bad flu, and Strike had spent the morning at the lab, undercover for the Beaker case. His afternoon had been spent making up for lost time and tailing two other clients around London; his leg was killing him. 

He had rushed back across the city to the office, where he had wrestled himself and his throbbing leg into dress pants and the nicest shirt he could find at the last minute. Now he faced the prospect of an evening at a club, where the watered-down drinks would no doubt cost a fortune, and most people would be on the dance floor. 

It was impressive that Robin had managed to get them into the party, but he had a feeling he knew why Blake Griffin had been so eager to give her an invitation, and it didn’t improve Strike’s mood. 

Robin entered the Tottenham and immediately saw Strike, scowling into a pint of beer. She saw him glance up and waved to him before walking over. 

She shook off her coat, revealing a short, form-fitting champagne-coloured dress that left little to the imagination at the front. She turned towards the bar. “I’m getting a drink. Want another one?”

Strike nodded casually. “Sure. Thanks.”

Strike watched her shimmering figure move its way through the crowded pub. Holy hell. She looked fantastic. When she had taken off her coat, a shot of pure desire had gone straight to his groin. He thought again of the evening ahead. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but his mood was rapidly turning into something like nervousness.

Robin returned with their drinks. “Ready for a party tonight?”

“That was brilliant, getting us in.”

Robin shrugged, pleased. “It wasn’t that hard. Men like Blake Griffin are rather predictable.” 

Her dismissive assessment of Blake further improved Strike’s mood.

Robin put her hands on the table excitedly. “So Aidan.”

She leaned forward. “He was gay. And his partner is his co-worker, Steve. He was completely, happily, out at work. They all knew. And Blake had no idea about Rebecca, I’m sure of it. It appears Aidan was living an entirely separate life.” 

Strike looked thoughtful. “I thought he might be. Rebecca knew he spent most of his time at work. She wasn’t really fitting into the picture. She’d have to be in denial over something to ignore that much of his life.”

Robin nodded. She knew about denial in relationships. “Exactly. So the question is: why did Aidan feel the need to lead two lives?”

Strike downed the rest of his pint and stood up. “Something we hopefully find out more about tonight. You ready?”

Robin shook back her hair and joined him. “You bet.”

As Strike held out his arm playfully and Robin took it, he found that he was rather looking forward to the club, after all.


	12. The Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike has to pose as Robin's boyfriend; things heat up on the dance floor.

Robin and Strike could hear the bass pounding from half a block away. They walked to the front of the long line outside The Station and approached the bouncer, who, Robin noticed, looked slightly weedy next to the taller and larger Strike.

He checked the list. “Yeah, you’re alright. Go ahead.” He pulled aside the velvet rope, and Robin stepped into the club, Strike behind her. 

They gave their coats to the check and pushed the doors open to the club. It was a giant converted train station with impossibly high ceilings and a large dance floor, packed with gyrating bodies. A long bar could barely be seen through a crowd of people at the far end. 

Blake appeared out of nowhere and pulled Robin into an awkward hug. “You look fucking amazing!” he yelled into Robin’s ear. His hands strayed down her back, moving farther. Robin grabbed his wrists and pulled back from him. 

Blake grinned, and pointed to his left. “Come sit with us!”

Robin grabbed Strike’s hand, and began following Blake. She pulled Strike closer and tugged him down to her level. “Follow my lead, okay?” Strike, busy casing the club, nodded once.

They went through a doorway and into a small room. Four people were there, sitting on assorted couches scattered about. The music was muffled, the room a relief from the pounding bass. Robin sat down on a mini sofa and pulled Strike down to sit beside her. Blake settled across from them and nodded questioningly at Strike.

“I brought my boyfriend,” said Robin, placing a deliberate hand on Strike’s chest. “Blake, meet Cameron.”

Blake’s smile faded. “Really. I wouldn't have thought-." He stopped, and looked at Strike with an unfriendly expression. "Hello.”

Strike nodded. “Thanks for the invite.”

Blake looked as if he wished he regretted the invite. “No problem, mate. Hey Robin, want a dance?”

Robin looked at Strike. “Erm –“

Blake snorted. “What, like you need his permission?”

Robin stood up and smiled tightly. “One dance.” She followed Blake out of the room, throwing an apologetic look at Strike.

Strike looked around the room. Two of the people there were occupied with each other. The other two were getting up and leaving for the dance floor. 

There was nothing else to do but pull himself up off the sofa. He would try, if he could, to find Aidan's partner Steve, and have a chat. First, he needed a drink.

At the bar, gluten-free, organic, imported beer in hand, Strike studied the dance floor. He looked half-heartedly for Linead (Robin had shown him photos from the company site) but didn’t see him. His gaze was drawn, irresistibly, to Robin, dancing with Blake. She wasn’t all that close to Blake, but he suddenly grabbed her, trying to pull her in. Even from this distance, Strike could see her resistance.

He knew she could handle herself, but that knowledge didn’t stop him from moving swiftly through the crowd of dancing people and standing right next to them. 

Robin flashed him a grateful look and shouted to Blake, “I think I’ll dance with my boyfriend, thanks!” 

Blake looked doubtful, but backed away a few steps and joined a small group nearby, still watching.

Robin faced Strike, who didn’t love the situation. His leg made it hard to dance, but he wasn’t without rhythm, he supposed he could try and-

Robin grabbed his hands and placed them on her waist. She tilted her chin slightly to her shoulder, indicating Blake behind them, then looked up at Strike, playful and suggestive.

Strike took a breath and smiled down at her, then grabbed her hips and pulled her right up against him in one smooth motion.

Robin gasped at the sudden sensation of being pressed up against him. A recklessness came over her, and she began to grind her hips against his, moving to the bass. She felt, rather than heard, Strike’s groan. She slid a hand up through his hair, tangling her fingers in it. The music throbbed around them, the strobe lights flashing on the dance floor. It illuminated them for a moment, Strike’s eyes piercing into hers. She gave him a fierce look, then pulled his face down to hers, kissing him.


	13. Part of the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin, two normally very astute people, read their own situation entirely wrong, of course. :D They also find out another key to the mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the feedback! It's keeping me writing and inspired for sure. Just in case you're wondering - I knew how the mystery would wrap up from the beginning, so all the threads do tie up together...but that can't happen too soon, of course. Robin and Strike need a few more steamy near-misses before the case can be solved! ;)

Robin felt Strike open his mouth to hers. She felt his hands, lightly, expertly, move up the sides of her body. Desire shot through her, warming her and turning her limbs to liquid. The bass thudded through them like a heartbeat. The dance floor was packed; it was shoulder-to-shoulder, and it was like they were the only two people in the room.

Strike knew what would happen a split second before it did; Robin had pulled his face down towards her and he was ready for it, wanted it. Strike’s tongue met hers again and again, his kiss turned deeper, hungrier. She moaned into his mouth. His control slipped another notch and his hips gave an involuntary thrust against hers.

He felt her breath hitch and dimly, somewhere in his mind, a warning bell went off. A few seconds more and his usual reason began taking over. Gently, he pulled back, his hands on her hips now stilling her. Slowly, he broke their kiss. He could feel Robin’s chest rapidly falling and rising against his own. The music changed to a slower, quieter song. They didn’t move. Strike glanced quickly around, then looked down at her.

“Blake’s gone.”

It felt like Robin's stomach dropped. Of course. For a moment, she had thought…but Strike’s mind was always on the case, wasn’t it? And why would she expect otherwise? She had led him into the pretense of being here as her date to begin with.

She drew back, out of his arms. It took her quite a bit of effort to give Strike a brisk nod. She felt a telltale prickle behind her eyes and angrily willed herself not to give in to it. “Good.”

Strike was alarmed to see the expression on Robin’s face. Christ, Blake had been forcing her and then he went right in after and took her cover story too far. He had been all over her. He felt like an idiot.

“We definitely got rid of him,” was all he could think to say. Robin nodded, staring resolutely at a spot over his shoulder.

“Tosser,” added Strike with a smile, for good measure. He watched Robin press her fingers to her temples and close her eyes. She opened them and looked at him, clear-eyed. “Right. Let’s go find Steve.”

She turned and began walking through the press of bodies, slow dancing to the song, which, to Robin’s ears, sounded annoyingly whiny. She marched purposefully past the bar, forcing her thoughts back to the job. They reached the room that Blake had shown them into before, filled with more people than the last time. With relief, Robin noticed that Blake was nowhere among them. Then she saw a young man, swigging his beer alone, despite most of the others being grouped up.

Robin headed towards him and sat down. “Steve?” she asked gently. She felt the couch give a little as Strike’s weight landed beside her.

The young man looked up from his bottle of beer. “Yeah?”

“I’m Robin Ellacott. Amelia hired me to investigate further into Aidan’s death. Would you mind talking to us for a bit?”

Steve looked wary, but sat up a bit straighter. “Fire away.”

“Do you think it was an accident? His overdose?”

Steve’s eyes watered. “Aidan was really happy. We were happy. I thought…he never did drugs before. That wasn’t really his scene. When I got the call that his body had been found at the office…”

He took a deep breath. “Lately, though, in the past few months…he’d been kind of…distant. He still came to work, he still joked around. But he wasn’t really…present. Does that make sense?”

Robin nodded and looked back at Strike, who raised his eyebrows encouragingly but said nothing. This was her interview.

“Did you know…Rebecca well?”

Steve shook his head. “He never talked about his roommate. I wanted him to live with me – he spent so much time at my flat. He always went home, though.”

“Are you close with Amelia, as well?”

“Yeah” Steve sighed, then leaned forward. “Can I tell you something?” 

Robin leaned forward and nodded encouragingly.

Steve looked around the room, then said, “I’m pretty sure Amelia was having an affair with Linead, and Aidan confronted her about it. He walked in on them in at the office.”

Robin frowned. “When was this?”

Steve put his beer bottle down on the table and looked down at it. Robin and Strike barely caught his next whispered words.  
“The day before he died.”


	14. Connecting the Dots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike have breakfast. They make a point of talking about the case while making another point of not addressing their feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit of an info dump, which I loathe. I've tried to keep it succinct - it's not particularly long, but it's a bit case-heavy. Does anyone have tips on how to avoid this? I couldn't avoid a bit of a summary - does it feel natural? Did you find it readable/interesting?

“Right,” said Robin determinedly, digging in her purse and pulling out a bundle of cue cards. She and Strike were having a catch-up breakfast. They needed a plan. 

In the days since their night at Station, Robin had caught up on office work and consulted with Barclay on the Beaker case. Strike had continued some surveillance. The atmosphere between them had shifted to a heightened but overly-polite awareness.

Strike watched Robin as she glanced down the menu. His thoughts strayed, as they so often did these days, to their kiss. Had he entirely misread the situation? He had attributed Robin’s reaction to Blake, but…  
She might have been able to brush off the moment in the elevator last week, but she couldn’t have failed to notice his desire the other night. Should he actually address whatever was happening between them?

Robin was unaware of Strike’s mental battle with himself. She lay out a cue card with a name on it.

“Aidan. Late at the office, presumably alone, he takes a bunch of prescription painkillers and his body is found the next morning.”

Strike took up the thread, glad of the distraction.  
“On the one hand, he’s a star at work, but also under immense pressure from his boss, who has singled him out. On the other hand, he’s balancing two relationships, only one of which his family actually knew about.”

Robin put a card out with Steve’s name.

“Steve seems to have been genuinely grieving. I believe that he thought Rebecca was merely Aidan’s roommate.”

“Rebecca seemed sincere as well,” Strike pointed out. “We’ve been filing Aidan away too neatly. There’s no reason that says he had to be one way or the other.”

“Although,” he added as an afterthought, “jealously could still be a factor if one of them is lying about not knowing.”

Robin nodded. “Okay, moving on. Next up is the boss.”

“Yeah. Linead,” Strike mused, as Robin put down Linead’s card. Strike continued, thinking out loud. 

“The man’s got a picture of Amelia on his desk. Why have a picture of both her and her brother? And if it was an affair, why have a picture of her out in the open at all? Did he put too much pressure on Aidan, or was it just meant to get results?” 

Strike took a swallow of his beer and scratched his stubble, changing topics.   
“I called Wardle, as you asked. He admitted they knew about Aidan’s two relationships, but that just solidifies motive for suicide, in their minds. They think he was torn up, guilty about the two at once. Plus the pressure at work. Wardle wouldn’t give me anything more, though.”

Robin shook her head. "Moving on again." She put down Amelia’s card. “And then we have his sister, who has a history of mental illness. She also has a history, according to Rebecca, of calling Aidan at odd times, in need of all kinds of rescuing. Maybe she _was_ having an affair with Linead. Maybe Aidan did walk in on them?”

Robin moved the cards silently around, making mental connections. She stopped and drummed her fingers against the cards. 

“We have a sister and two different partners who all say Aidan’s behaviour changed in the last weeks. We know that he kept his two lives very separate. However, the one common theme that we’ve heard from everyone is that Aidan was just not into drugs, or that an overdose wasn’t his style. This is all connected, but how?”

Strike looked at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You tell me. What does the psychologist make of all this?”

Robin laughed warmly. The strained politeness between them seemed lessened during their discussion.

She looked up, deciding. “I think that we should double-check who was in the office the night Aidan died, and follow in his last footsteps a bit. And there’s a big gap surrounding Linead.”

She raised her eyebrows and tapped one of the cards. “And we need to talk to Amelia again.”


	15. Amelia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin gets a surprise; she and Strike get a break from all that's going on and share a lighthearted moment.

Robin dialed the number on her mobile and waited, mentally rehearsing what to say. 

“Hello?” answered a breathy voice.

“Er, hello Amelia,” said Robin, taken aback at the cheerful tone. “It’s Robin Ellacott here. I’d like to ask you some questions again, when you have a chance to meet-“

“Perfect, perfect!” Amelia cried gaily into the phone. “I actually just – you and Mr. Strike can come to a rather special dinner party I’m throwing for a few people. Rebecca will be there, and – oh, you must come!”

Robin was speechless. This was the same woman who had previously been unable to form a coherent sentence during her initial visit, whose medical history was riddled with institutional visits, whose interview with the police had been gibberish. This was the same woman who had insisted, in between bouts of hysterics, that her twin brother had been murdered.

“Okay,” Robin said carefully. “When-“

“Lovely, you’re such a darling! Both you and that sexy giant you work with!”

Robin opened her mouth, then closed it.

“Anyways, you must come! Two nights from now! I have some VERY interesting news for you both, in fact, I don’t think I really need your services – but then again, oh just come, do come! Here’s the address – I’ve actually been staying at the Bloomsbury for the past few months, so I’ve got a small party room rented. 8 pm. Do dress nicely, won’t you?“

The line went dead, and Robin had to check the recent caller ID on her mobile to make sure that she had indeed just spoken with Amelia. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. She went to tell Strike in his office, who listened to Robin’s re-enactment with amusement.

“I think we should go to the dinner just so I can see you make that face again. I rather enjoyed your Amelia impression.”

Robin felt her cheeks grow warm. “Well, the whole thing was so odd, given what we know about her.”

“Agreed. All the more reason to go to this party.”

Robin considered the phone call. “What do you suppose she meant by “a rather special dinner party?” Or when she almost said she didn’t need our services?”

Strike gave a small shrug, helping himself to more takeaway. “Sounds rather Agatha Christie, eh? Maybe she’ll reveal the murderer.”

Robin grinned. “Alright, but that might ruin my reputation if I can’t solve my own case.”

Strike grinned back. “Chin up, Ellacott. I already told you that impression was spot-on. You can always become an actress.”


	16. The Plot Thickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike got to Amelia's party and decide to do some sneaking around.

“How in the bloody hell,” said Strike grumpily to his prosthetic leg in the corner, “did I get roped into wearing a suit two times in as many weeks?”

He finished doing up his belt and made his way over to the leg, attaching it with a sigh. He limped over to the sink, cleaned his teeth, and risked a glance in the mirror. 

Strike had never spent much time thinking about his appearance – what was the point? He felt that tonight, however, was a chance to do things a bit differently. He wouldn’t let his thoughts form into a clear resolution, one way or another, but there was a sense of expectation about the evening. He heard the office door open below, and Robin’s voice called out. 

“Hello? Ready, Cormoran?”

Strike took a deep breath. “Alright, mate, here we go.” He reached down and gave his prosthesis one last adjustment, then headed out of the room.

Robin was standing downstairs, studying her notepad. Strike noticed, with a bit of a misstep that wasn’t entirely due to his bad leg, that she was wearing the green dress he had got her from Vashti.

Robin looked up and smiled. “Let’s go find out what Amelia has to say.”

 

The banquet room that Amelia had reserved in the Bloomsbury hotel was as lush and quiet as it was large. A few small tables had been set out, and a buffet table lined the side. A private bar had been set up in the far corner, where a bartender gave them nod. Strike headed over to it, not before touching Robin’s hand lightly with a gesture of encouragement.

Amelia was nowhere to be seen, but a few other small groups of people milled about. Rebecca was there in the room, looking a bit lost. She saw Strike at the bar, spotted Robin and gave her a look of relief, heading over. “I’m glad to see the both of you made it. What do you suppose this is all about?” 

“I was rather hoping you could tell me,” said Robin, nodding to a sandy-haired young man who had just entered, looking unsure. 

“Hello, Matt,” said Rebecca, waving him over. “Robin – meet Matt, one of Aidan’s friends.”

Robin recognized the name Strike had given her after his interview with Rebecca. Matt walked over.

“Another one of us, I know. Although I’m a bit less glamourous than the Marketing team – I'm just the electrician.” Matt shook their hands with a sad smile. “Aidan was nice to everyone at the office. I understand you two have been looking into Aidan’s death – how is it coming along?”

Robin smiled vaguely. “What do you think Amelia has planned for us this evening?”

Strike joined the group. “I’m sorry, I’ve just got to steal Robin away for a quick moment.” He led Robin to the corner. “Linead’s here.”

“What?”

“He just poked his head in through the set of double doors on the other side. He was gone again so quickly I barely noticed, but I’m pretty sure it was him.”  
Strike set his pint down. “Up for a bit of a surveillance?”

Robin nodded. She and Strike walked nonchalantly to the doors nearest to them. Nobody noticed. Strike pushed one open and held it open as Robin ducked through it, then followed her out of the party.


	17. Sneaking Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin tail Linead; Strikes has some meaningful things to say to Robin.

Strike gestured to down the plush hallway to the left. “This way.”  
They began walking, the carpet muffling their footsteps. They turned a corner just in time to see the back of a rather portly man with a mass of grey hair up ahead. 

Strike stopped abruptly, grabbing Robin’s hand and pulling her back around the corner with him. 

“That was him!” whispered Robin, at the same time that Strike asked, “So is that Linead?”

Strike risked a glance around the corner. “Let’s give him a moment and follow.”

Strike waited, then started forward. Robin followed, padding silently down the hallway, Linead’s figure strolling along. Suddenly, Linead stopped outside a door and rifled through his pockets. As if in slow motion, his head began to turn in their direction. Strike had just enough time to back himself and Robin around the corner into a small hallway with a drinks machine. They pressed themselves flat against the wall. 

“Oh God,” breathed Robin. “If he sees me, he’ll lose it. He can’t spot me after the way he was in the office.” Strike’s arm was still across her body, his face turned around the edge of the wall. 

“Okay, he went in the room,” said Strike, turning back to face Robin. “We’ve got some time before he comes back out, I suppose.” 

They both took a moment, catching their breath. Robin shook her head, fighting a mad urge to laugh. Strike watched her, amused.

“Something funny?”

“It’s just all a bit bizarre. This crazy dinner party that Amelia hasn’t even shown up at, and we’re here sneaking around hotel hallways in our best clothes.”

“And what,” continued Robin, shifting into annoyance, “is Linead even DOING here?” She rubbed her temples in frustration. “I can’t get on top of this bloody case. We keep turning over stones and uncovering question after question.” She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. “I don’t even feel as if I know what I’m doing anymore.” 

“Robin,” she heard Strike say. “Look at me.”

She opened her eyes. Strike was looking right into them. “You are a brilliant detective.”

Robin snorted and looked at the floor. “No, listen,” said Strike seriously. She felt his fingers underneath her chin, tilting her face to look at him again. 

“Robin. You realize we are here tonight because of you. The fact that we got into the office, what Blake revealed about Aidan’s life, what we learned from Steve at the club…You’ve been leading us every step of the way. It’s all been down to you, and you’ve done a fucking good job.”

Robin nodded, her eyes blazing. She hadn’t looked away from Strike’s face.

“The only reason we even know to follow Linead is because of you. Alright?”

Robin nodded again, straightening her spine. “Alright.”

They heard a door open, and then, it was barely audible; the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. She and Strike froze. What now? 

“What if it’s-?” Robin hissed. Strike’s hand, which had been on her shoulder, went gently up to her mouth, fingers warning her to be quiet.

The footsteps kept coming, and a woman in pajamas and sheep slippers walked past, not even glancing into their hallway.

They both exhaled, Robin closing her eyes. Strike dropped his hand. They looked at each other. 

Robin didn’t know if it was the adrenaline, or all the moments that had passed between them in the past few weeks. Maybe it was that she had been pressed against him for most of the evening, hyper-aware of his large body next to hers. Or maybe it was the fact that Strike’s comments about her and the case meant more than she could express. She smiled right at him, reached up, and kissed him.


	18. Robin Takes the Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since this is my first time with all of this, I feel as if it's the thing to warn people if there's explicit content in this one? This chapter is basically the reason why I wanted to write the fanfic in the first place. The mystery is just an excuse, really. :D If shameless sex isn't your thing; you won't miss anything plot-wise if you skip the chapter.
> 
> Let's just say things come to a - er- head - between Robin and Strike. Also, I apologize - this is the second time I've put these two up against a wall, but that's like, my favourite scenario ever. #somebodylikeStrikepushmeupagainstawallplease  
> I loved writing this, but it's the one I'm most nervous about, because it was actually the hardest to write without sounding repetitious and overly predictable. How many times can one write "moan" anyways? :D

This time, there was no mistaking their desire. This time, there was no pretense, no excuse to hide behind. 

Right now, it was just the two of them, in the moment. The thought went to Robin’s head like a shot of whisky. Strike was kissing her back deeply, his hips pressing hers against the wall.

Strike’s hands were riding up the sides of her body, then stroked back down her arms. Robin’s nipples tightened, and she pushed her body further into his. One of Strike’s hands lightly cupped her breast. She whimpered, squirming her shoulders, and felt Strike smile against her mouth before his fingers squeezed lightly. She moaned, and her hands went down to his belt, tugging at it. 

Strike stilled, breathing hard, looking at her, his blue eyes dark with desire. 

“Robin –“

“Cormoran,” she said, breathless but clear. “I want this.”

He needed no further invitation; his reasoning was already shot to hell. He could barely think. He was kissing her, harder and deeper, thrusting his hips along with his tongue. 

Robin was overcome with desire and need. Finally, his belt came loose. They broke for air, Strike kissing her neck, his stubble gently scraping her, teasing her skin into goosebumps. She could barely breathe, she was so aroused. Strike’s other hand went down her stomach, further down, underneath the bunched fabric of her dress, and touched her between her legs. She felt the sound he made deep in his throat – her underwear was soaked. His fingers stroked her, once. The effect was like a match to dynamite. Robin squirmed out of her panties and Strike yanked them down, then ran his hands up the inside of her legs, back up between them, stroking her again. Kissing her again, his fingers continued their practiced motion, stroking over and over, his tongue an echo of his hand. Robin was pressing her hips so far forward her back was bowing off the wall, and suddenly, she came, moaning into Strike’s mouth. 

He held her for a few seconds as her mind came back to earth, Strike’s chest heaving.

It wasn’t enough. Robin opened her eyes and met Strike’s gaze. His face, normally calm, was flushed, his hair mussed. He moved his hips against hers, once, slowly, and as Robin felt the friction of his erection, lust rose in her again. She wanted to feel him, all of him. She wanted him inside her. She moved back against him, and Strike let out groan. She saw him swallow. She moved her hips again, and again, Strike matching her rhythm with is own. Desperate for more contact, thought she would go mad between Strike and the wall. As if reading her thought, Strike’s arm came down and hooked one of her legs over his hip, then went behind her, supporting her weight. He half-lifted her against the wall, his other hand braced against it. Her hands eagerly pushed down his pants and boxers, finding him. His whole body jumped. He was rock hard. She began stroking him, her hand slow. Strike groaned again, thrusting forward into her hands. 

Robin was panting, teasing him with her fingers. “Somebody could walk in-“

“I don’t,” gritted out Strike, “give a fuck.” Robin half-laughed, then gasped as his arm lifted her further, and rubbed the tip of his erection against her core. 

He looked at her, stopping himself; checking in with her one last time before they both crossed the line for good. Robin, mind glazed with lust, pressed her forehead against his. “Yes,” was all she said, all she needed to say, and Strike thrust into her in one motion. 

He kept still for a moment, and Robin moved her hips wickedly, encouraging. Strike threw back his head, gritting his teeth. He moved inside her, sending a thrill from the bottom of her spine to the top of her neck. It was her turn to gasp. Strike began moving again. His rhythm increased, he was thrusting into her faster and she felt a second orgasm building. She arched her body at the same time she captured his mouth with hers, tilting her pelvis and giving him deeper access. “Fuck!” breathed Strike against her mouth, and came, she felt him pulsing into her. It was enough to send her over a second time – their bodies moving against each other, stuttering and slowing down. 

Strike dropped his forehead to the wall, his arm supporting her gently lowering her to the ground. Robin glanced at her feet, saw her panties there and realized with half-horror, half-delight, that they had just had sex in a mini hallway of a hotel. She had never done anything like that in her life.

Strike glanced over at her, his cheek resting on his forearm on the wall. He grinned. “That was a hell of a way to pass the time.”


	19. The Second Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike can barely acknowledge the step they've taken before the mystery reaches a whole new level.

It was like coming to; Robin was suddenly aware that they were both standing, slightly sweaty and out of breath, half-dressed in the hallway. Robin smoothed down her hair and adjusted her dress with a shaking hand. Her legs still felt like liquid, as if they wouldn’t support her weight. 

Strike was leaning with his back against the wall, finishing doing up the buttons on his pants. Robin’s heart was still racing as she tried to form her thoughts into order. They both heard another door open down the hall.

Strike threw her a bemused look. “Good timing.”

He looked round, then hissed over his shoulder. “Linead. He’s heading back to the lift.”

Robin shook her head to clear it, trying to focus. She had rather forgotten about why they were in the hallway to begin with. They heard the distant chime of the lift going down. “What was he up to in that room?” she whispered. “And how long has he been at the same hotel as Amelia?” 

Strike stretched his neck to the side, considering. “Add it somewhere to the list of questions we don’t have answers to.” He patted his pockets. “Fuck. Forgot my cigarettes.” He looked at Robin. “Shall we go down to dinner?”

They rode the lift down in silence, each lost in thought. It wasn’t uncomfortable, thought Robin, sneaking a glance at Strike. Just different. There was a sense between them of having broken down an invisible wall.

When they walked towards the doors of the banquet room, Strike put a gentle hand on her arm. “Hang on.” 

He looked down at her, his eyes seeking hers. “Okay?”

The question seemed loaded, but Robin knew she didn’t have the wherewithal to sort through her emotions just then. She needed to put her energy towards the party. She gave him a firm nod. “Yep. Let’s see what Amelia has planned.”  
Inside, more guests were milling around. Robin and Strike split up, deciding to tackle as many leads as they could while all in the one room. Robin noticed Steve had arrived, and was alone by the bar. He looked up and gave Robin a friendly wave when he saw her. She went over to him.

“Hi Steve. How are you holding up?” 

He shrugged. “Alright, I suppose. I met Rebecca.” They both cast a glance over to where she stood, across the room.

Steve gave a shaky laugh. “I thought she was just a roommate. I guess all these things come out, don’t they? Worlds colliding and all that. I thought what Aidan and I had was special. I thought-I thought he loved me.”

Robin’s heart went out to him; his expression was miserable. 

“Steve,” she said gently. “I believe he truly did. I think Aidan had a lot going on. It doesn’t mean what you felt wasn’t real.”

He looked at her gratefully. “Thanks. Yeah, I tell myself that. Nice to hear it from a private investigator, though.”

Robin smiled. “So what do you think Amelia has planned with this dinner?”

Steve gave a small roll of his eyes and perked up a little. “God knows. It’ll either be the best party you’ll attend, or she’ll forget the date and won’t show up.”

Robin laughed, and was about to ask if he knew how Amelia could afford a party like this, when the double doors opened and three police officers stepped into the room.

A solid-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair stepped forward. “Attention please?”  
He waited for the buzz of conversation to quiet. Heads turned towards him. 

“Alright everyone. I’m Chief Inspector Chris Mendez. I regret to inform you that Amelia Lowell has been reported dead in her hotel suite as of 5:30 pm earlier this evening. Please, stay in the room until we’ve come and spoken to you.”

A wave of surprise moved through the room. Some people gasped. Robin looked around for Strike, making eye contact with him across the floor. Steve had sat down with a thud on a nearby chair, looking thunderstruck. 

“I’ll be back,” Robin said, but Steve didn’t look up.

She and Strike moved through the guests towards each other, meeting up halfway. 

“I think,” Robin said, “Linead has moved to the top of that list.”


	20. A Different Kind of Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets a break from the mystery at Nick and Ilsa's for dinner; Robin and Strike get a moment to themselves.

“My god,” said Ilsa, looking from Strike to Robin. “It never ends with you two, does it?”

Robin shook her head, smiling. 

Ilsa studied her and laughed. “You just love it, don’t you?”

Robin shrugged happily. “I live for it.”

“Well, you always make it through,” said Nick cheerfully. “And you’ve managed to solve all your cases, even with Robin getting half-killed a few times. I guess you do alright, don’t you, despite the odds?”

“Cheers” said Strike, grinning.

“So what happened after they told you Amelia was dead? Did you have to stay in the hotel all night?” Ilsa speared a dumpling with her chopsticks.

“The police kept everyone there for four hours until they’d talked to everyone,” said Robin, also helping herself to a dumpling. “They let us all go, eventually.” 

“What do the police think? Do you know?” Nick asked.

“They’ve ruled suicide,” began Robin. “Overdose. She was already on so much medication, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics…and of course she has a history with previous attempts. Her twin brother just died, so that tips an already troubled woman over the edge.”

Ilsa looked at them both. “And you don’t believe it was suicide, do you?”

“Of course not,” said Strike and Robin in unison.

“We’re running low on rice – I’ll get some more” Ilsa stood up and walked to the kitchen. 

“I’ll grab another bottle of white,” said Nick, moving to get up. 

“I’ll get it – you just made dinner,” said Robin, rising from her chair and heading through the kitchen to the garage.

She stepped into the garage and stood by the mini fridge, glad of a moment to herself. She hadn’t known what to expect this evening-it was the first time in two days that she and Strike had seen each other since the night at the Bloomsbury. 

They had been dancing around each other for the past hour. Every time their eyes met, every time they accidentally touched, had sent Robin back to the hotel hallway. Her memory of the night, coupled with proximity to Strike during dinner, had her in a half-aroused, half-frustrated state.

“Pull yourself together,” she told herself sternly. She grabbed the wine from the fridge and pulled the door back open to the house hallway. Strike was just behind it. 

“Oh!” Robin put a hand to her chest, dropping the bottle.

Strike reached out, lightning fast, and grabbed it before it hit the ground. Robin, almost as quick, grabbed empty air. They both stood up, much closer together than before. 

Strike held the wine up between them. “Sorry – didn’t mean to give you a scare.”

“No, you didn’t! I was just-“ her words faded away as he stood in front of her. Robin’s memory chose that moment to betray her. She had a sudden flash of him lifting her against the wall, his erection pressing against her. 

“I was just thinking about the case,” she said, rather lamely.

“Ah.” said Strike, studying her. He put the wine bottle on a worktable, then moved incrementally closer, almost making her sway towards him.

“What about it?” he said, speaking so low she barely heard it. She was aware of her breasts pressed against him. She didn’t move away. She put a tentative hand on his chest, her fingers gently twining with the hair near his open collar. Strike closed his eyes, then opened them again, capturing her hand on his chest and holding it there. She could feel his heartbeat as he looked down at her.

“I think,” she began, hardly knowing what she was saying. “I think-“

“God, Robin,” whispered Strike. “You’re killing me.” And he bent his head down, putting his mouth to hers, kissing her. 

It was a sweet kiss, a slow one. Robin kissed him back, savouring the feel of his mouth, his tongue stroking hers in a gentle rhythm. She sighed into him, and felt him bring both his arms down and around her waist, gently lifting her ever so slightly up on her toes. Strike moved one hand, stroking up her back, then came up, cupping the back of her head. He deepened the kiss. 

Robin felt as if she was melting into him, her hands exploring his chest, dropping lower, lower, until she grazed her fingers gently across the front of his pants. Strike’s body jerked.

“Oi, you two!” came Nick’s voice from the kitchen. “What are you getting up to in there?”

Strike and Robin broke their kiss, slightly out of breath. Strike began kissing her neck, grazing his teeth gently on her skin. Robin gasped a little, her body aching in response. Her hand purposefully stroked him through his pants again. Strike made a noise in the back of his throat. 

“Seriously, Robin!” Nick shouted playfully again. “What’s Strike doing to you?” 

“Nick!” came the half-teasing, half-reproachful addition from Ilsa, then a set of footsteps coming closer.

Strike and Robin drew apart slightly. Robin rested her cheek on his chest.

“I’m coming round the corner now, Oggy!” they heard Nick laugh. “Last warning!”

“Jesus bloody Christ,” said Strike exasperatedly, his head bent into Robin’s hair. Robin laughed and stepped away. Strike leaned over and picked up the wine bottle. 

“To be continued,” he said, winking at Robin. “In the meantime-“

The door swung open, revealing a grinning Nick. 

“We need a plan for Linead,” finished Strike. He let Robin go past them, then cuffed Nick good-naturedly on the shoulder on his way back into the house.


	21. The First Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin goes back to Linead's office where she finally gets a breakthrough on the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew from the beginning that I wanted to have a scene with Robin doing some good old-fashioned detective work on her own; this is, after all, her case! I know she's up to the challenge. :D

Robin strode into the office lobby with purpose. She walked to the lifts and stood waiting, thinking.

It was time to get answers from Linead, but he had continued to be uncooperative. As Robin and Strike weren’t police, there was no forcing an interview. The only thing left to do had been to go back to square one: try and see what Linead’s office could tell them. 

They still had the keys of course, but after their close call breaking in, Robin had decided to try a different approach. She had called Jackie, Linead’s secretary, and she and Strike had met her for coffee.  
The lift doors slid open and Robin stepped in. It was quite different, she reflected, riding it alone, in the middle of a working afternoon. She remembered she and Strike, tangled together in the dark, and felt her face get warm. Whatever feelings they had been stepping around then was nothing compared to the complicated dance they were doing now.

Floor five. Robin stepped out and saw Jackie, who eagerly rushed forward to greet her. 

“Oh my god, this is so exciting! I feel as if I’m working undercover!” She looked hopefully behind Robin at the lift, fluffing her hair.

“Is Mr. Strike with you?”

Robin hid a smile. “No, I’m afraid it’s just me today.”

Jackie deflated a bit. “Oh.” She looked at Robin, then rallied. “Well cheers to the ladies, eh? We know what's what!” 

Robin grinned. “Absolutely.” 

She held out the keys to Jackie as they walked down the hall towards the office. “Thanks a million for these, Jackie. You risked your job and it was a big help. Did you get in much trouble?”

Jackie laughed. “Oh, I don’t care. Linead just thought I was an idiot for losing a set of keys and had another one made. I hate this job. I would have done anything for Aidan, he was so kind.” She looked sad for a moment, then said brightly, “but you’ve got a good hour at least, before Mr. Linead comes back from his lunch!”

“Brilliant,” said Robin. “Would you mind keeping a lookout at your desk? You’re in a great position to hold off anyone else coming in.” 

Jackie looked thrilled. “Ooh, yes please! Shall we have a secret signal? Shall I do a bird call? Oh!” She clapped her hands. “What sounds do robins make?”

“Er, no need for bird calls, I don’t think,” said Robin, smiling. “Just, you know, head them off a bit and try and get rid of them.”

Jackie nodded, her eyes round. “Alright. Good luck!” She let Robin into the office, gave her the key to the filing cabinet, and closed the door.

Robin stood in the empty room, pulling on a pair of gloves. She looked at the walls, the ceiling. One of the panels looked slightly off, above the desk. Careful not to slip, Robin cleared a space on the desk and stood. On her toes, she could just reach the panel. She pulled it open, feeling around the empty corners. Just a mistake, then, from the last time somebody cleaned the ceiling?  
She got back down and studied the picture frame on the desk. Aidan was caught, mid-laughter, his arm around his sister, who was turned slightly towards him, smiling adoringly. They looked happy.

Robin sighed. She picked up the frame and turned it over, checking underneath the backing. Nothing there. The desk had only one drawer, which was unlocked. It revealed a jumble of pens and office supplies, as well as a few bars of chocolate. Robin’s fingers nimbly checked for a hidden compartment. Nothing. 

She moved across the room to the locked filing cabinet and opened the top drawer with the key. The typical file folder arrangement. Robin flipped through them to see if any papers stood out. Seemingly nothing out of order. She’d have to go back.

She opened the next drawer. Mostly empty, except for a more office supplies and a small wooden box. Robin opened it. Cufflinks. She returned the box.

Last drawer, at the bottom. More folders. At the front of the files was a small, flattened cardboard box that had an empty envelope attached. Robbin snapped a quick picture of it, then rifled through the rest of the papers quickly. A flash of something sparkly. It was sticking just out of a file marked, “Step Up Leadership Acc.” She pulled it out – it was a folded note card with a glittery, floral pattern. She opened it. 

_I’m so excited to have found you. Please, you must believe me._  
23M  
Login: Am3079 

Heart pounding, Robin was just taking a picture of the message when a sound broke through the silence, startling her. 

“Oooeeep ooooeeep!” came the strange, high-pitched sound. “Cheeeeeep, cheep cheep cheep cheep!”

“Bloody hell,” whispered Robin. She replaced the card and shut the filing cabinet, pulling off her gloves. She went to the door just in time to meet Jackie, swinging it open and looking slightly hysterical. 

“He’s back! He’s back early but I managed to send him downstairs by saying he had to speak to the copy editors! You should have seen his face when I made the bird signal! You have to leave, quick!”

Robin gave her a quick hug. “Thanks Jackie!” She strode to the empty lift and rode down to the lobby, marching out of the building quickly.  
As soon as she was out the front doors she dialed Strike on her mobile. He picked up on the second ring. 

“Find anything?”

“Cormoran – I think Linead was Amelia and Aidan’s father.”


	22. Another Clue, Another Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin reveals another piece of the puzzle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for all of you lovely people reading along: we're fast approaching the end. I estimate no more than four more chapters - so stick around for things to start coming together!   
> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos! The fact that anyone is reading this astounds me, and the knowledge that you're out there, having as much fun reading as I am writing it is keeping me going.

After a day of research, Robin had finally been able to put some pieces together. She alternated between feelings of dread and excitement as she waited for Strike to return to the office. Neither had addressed what was happening between them – the case had taken all their time and energy. Unspoken words hung in the air around them, their feelings hiding behind a mask of flirtation.

“Dinner,” announced Strike, coming through the office door with takeout sandwiches in his hand. He put the bag on the floor and started shaking off his coat. 

“Put it in the fridge for later,” said Robin jumping up from the desk with her coat already on.

“But-“

“Steve returned my call. He says Linead left town after work this afternoon and a bunch of them from the office are having a mini party there, ordering food. We want to talk to him, and this is a good chance. We should head over.”

Strike stood with his coat half-off. “I’m bloody starving, Ellacott. I won’t survive.”

“Alright, grab one to go for the walk there.”

“I don’t want to go to a party.” Strike half-heartedly took the sandwich Robin had offered to him.

“Poor lamb.”

“I need a drink.”

“Gosh, it’s lucky I have a water bottle right here in my purse.” Robin strode to the office door and held it open, smiling rather smugly.

“Fucking hell,” Strike said with a good-natured sigh, straightening his coat back on and going through the door.

 

“So what did you find out today?” asked Strike with interest, blowing cigarette smoke through the chilly night air as they made their way to the impromptu office party. His mood had greatly improved after eating the sandwich.

“I was right. Linead is Aidan and Amelia’s biological father. “23M” refers to “23andMe,” it’s one of those DNA websites.” Robin strode along, proudly explaining. 

“The wording of the note “please believe me” – she was offering proof. I thought about the box I had found, and the context of the note. I think she met up with Linead at some point to give him the picture and convince him he was her dad. It looks like he does believe it on some level, if he kept the picture.”

“It could also explain why Aidan walked into them together in the office. They weren’t having an affair, she was trying to get through to him,” reasoned Strike. “But wouldn’t Linead already know, if he’s a member of the site?”

“You can choose the option not be notified of close relatives that add their DNA to the database,” said Robin.   
Then she said, “But why didn’t Linead tell anyone, once he knew?” 

“Maybe he’s processing it all – it’s big news to wrap your head around.”

“And if Amelia knew that Linead was their father, who else did she tell? Aidan? That could definitely be a reason for some desperate late-night phone calls. It could also make a person pretty emotional.” Robin guessed.

Strike inhaled on his cigarette, thinking. “Do you remember her initial interview? She kept saying, “the things I know.”

“Yeah,” said Robin, slowing down as they approached the office building, turning to Strike.   
“  
So how does it fit? When did Amelia tell Aidan? When did she tell Linead?” 

Strike put out his cigarette and dropped it into a nearby garbage ashtray, shaking his head.

“I’m sure her death is connected,” said Robin. “Amelia knew enough that somebody wanted her silenced, for whatever reason.”

“And,” Robin continued. “That’s not all I found out.” 

“Of course not,” said Strike teasingly, but the look on his face was serious. 

Robin took a folded printout from her bag and showed it to Strike. It was Amelia’s DNA profile from the website. At the top of the page, it listed Amelia’s closest relatives:

_Father – Morgan Linead  
Brother – Aidan Lowell  
Paternal half-brother – Matthew Grader_

“Christ,” said Strike, reading the paper. “The electrician.”


	23. Feelings and a Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike's avoidance of their feelings reaches a boiling point.

Steve let them into the lobby and rode with them in the lift to the first floor, where it did indeed look like a party. Somebody had set up a sound system with music playing, and there were about thirty office workers grouped about, laughing and drinking. Pairs of smart shoes were abandoned around desks on the floor. 

“Cat’s away, the mice will play,” quoted Strike, amused.

“Listen, I know you lot want to talk, but I’ve just got to go round the corner to pick up the pizza. I’ll be back.”

“Steve,” said Robin quickly, “May I use a computer? I’ve just got to look something up.” 

“Sure, sure,” said Steve, heading back to the lift. “First office on the left, general computer, office login’s on the monitor.” 

“I’m going to see if they’ve got any drinks, mingle a bit and maybe get some information on Matt. I’ll stay away from Blake,” he said, giving Robin a grin. 

“Right,” said Robin. heading into the small frosted-glass office and shutting the door, muffling the music. She walked around the desk and typed at the keyboard, waiting for the computer to load. Robin let out a frustrated sigh. She was tired. Tired of the case that kept turning corners, and tired of the unaddressed feelings between her and Strike.

“Come on, come on,” said Robin to the black screen, a bit angrily. She thought of Strike, always so calm and collected, and the image frustrated her further. She knew Strike was not the type of man who wanted to sit down and have a discussion about where the relationship was going. But then, she argued with herself for the hundredth time that day, she deserved to know. They weren’t teenagers, for heaven’s sake-

The door opened, and Strike came in, holding two bottles. He looked at the expression on her face. “Alright?”

“Fine!” Robin said, with a little too much force. “This computer is bloody slow. I’m fine, though. Completely!” She shook the mouse impatiently, knowing full well it wouldn’t help.

“Are you sure?” asked Strike mildly, leaning against the doorway. “I came to find you so we could maybe check in after the week we’ve had.”

“Oh,” said Robin, brought up short. Seeing him, leaning there completely at ease, caused her simmering emotions to flare to the surface again. “Alright,” she said, walking over to him and grabbing one of the beers. “Let’s check in.” 

Strike raised an eyebrow. “Is it the case?”

“Yes, it’s the bloody case!” returned Robin, feeling herself reaching a boiling point. “It’s always the case, isn’t it?”

Strike put down his beer bottle. “Robin-“

“Why would I be thinking about anything else?” she challenged Strike. “We’ve been dancing around each other for months, we’ve even had sex, but oh no, let’s not talk about _that!_ ”

“We’re talking about it now,” said Strike, getting annoyed.

“Are you worried that I won’t be able to work? That if we admit to each other there’s something happening that I won’t focus on cases?” 

“What?” said Strike, taken aback. “Is that what you think?”

“No, is that what YOU think?” shot back Robin. “I’m asking, because I don’t bloody know! We kiss, we’re up against hotel walls, but you don’t mention a sodding thing about it!”

“Maybe I’m worried,” said Strike. He was no longer leaning against the doorway. He was standing upright, his breathing a little shallow.

“Worried that I can’t focus? Worried that I won’t be able to do my job?” Robin stepped backwards, her hands on her hips.

“I am _never_ worried about that,” Strike said, looking at her with utmost sincerity. Realization dawned on him. “Robin. Listen, I-“

But Robin had had enough – she came towards him and was kissing him within seconds. Her stress about the case, her self-doubt, and her feelings for Strike had been tangled together all day, simmering beneath the surface. All she had needed to hear was that he didn't think what was happening was a liability to the partnership. The rest could wait. She was kissing him, hard, undoing the buttons on her blouse in her eagerness. 

Strike responded hungrily, throwing his own frustration into kissing her back. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her onto the desk. His hands were behind his back, busy tearing off his coat. He threw it on the floor, then his hands went up and pulled her roughly to the edge of the desk. Robin wrapped his legs around his waist, pressing against him. 

“We need,” Robin broke off, and Strike bent down, his lips to her breast, hand cupping inside her bra. “We need to stop doing this in extreme-“

Strike captured a nipple gently between his teeth.

“Extreme circumstances” she gasped.

Somebody laughed, loudly, just outside the door, and there was a loud thunk as a body fell against the frosted window. More laughter, and a “had enough, mate?” The voices faded back into the party, but it had been enough to stop Robin and Strike. They froze, then slowly, Strike straightened up. Robin unwrapped her legs from around his waist and cleared her throat, slowly sliding off the desk in front of him.

“You know, I’m just going to, um, check to make sure everything’s plugged in down there.” She went around the desk and ducked underneath to double check the wires. Strike walked over as well, trying to use the few steps to cool himself off. He adjusted himself in his pants and sat down in the office chair.

There was a knock on the door.


	24. Robin Takes a Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content warning.  
> This was because, just like Strike and Robin up against a wall, I've always loved this particular scenario. Also because I'm following advice about the more smut you write, the easier it gets. (Am I allowed to call out people in the chapter notes? Do you know who you are if I'm not?) Regardless, thanks for the advice! This one was completely different, but funnier, so it was cool to try. 
> 
> Case-wise/Strike and Robin-wise: this is a totally fun, but totally unnecessary chapter. You can skip it and not lose any information. Meanwhile, for the rest of you...

A knock sounded again. “Hellooo in there?”

“It’s Jackie,” Robin groaned from underneath the desk. 

The door opened and Jackie walked in. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Strike!” She walked eagerly over to face Strike on the other side of the desk.

“I’m so excited to see you! Robin came in yesterday, did she tell you about our little secret mission?”

Robin, who easily could have crawled out from her hiding place and stood up, was overcome with sudden bravado. The near-argument and escalating kiss had left her aroused and feeling reckless. She reached for the front of Strike’s pants, right in front of her. 

Strike jerked forward in his chair. “Yes, yes she did,” he said, clearing his throat. To his dismay, Jackie pulled a side chair forward to sit across the desk from him.

Beneath him, Robin undid his pants, and noticed with delight that he was still rock-hard.

“You know, I always thought I’d make a top investigator myself,” Jackie said, looking at Strike.

Robin took him into her hand, and began stroking languidly but firmly, up and down. Strike inhaled sharply. 

“I know, I know! It’s shocking, isn’t it, to say you want to do something so dangerous?” Jackie giggled. “Is it dangerous, Mr. Strike?”

Robin, gaining rhythm, felt her own desire building. Knowing that for once she was disrupting Strike’s implacable calm was going to her head in a rush of lust. Leaning forward, she took him into her mouth.

Strike’s hand flailed out and hit the desk surface. “Very,” he managed, hoarsely. 

Jackie looked alarmed. “God, I didn’t realize!” She leaned forward eagerly.

Robin began sucking, all along his shaft, up and down, hardly believing what she was doing, and loving it. 

Strike closed his eyes, his pulse pounding in his ears. He couldn’t keep his head up, and his neck dropped forward. 

“Mr. Strike – Cormoran – are you alright?”

Robin eased up, slowing down.

Strike managed to open his eyes. “Ye-ah. Yes.” He had just taken a breath when Robin began again.

“Fuck!” said Strike, unable to stop himself. He gripped the edge of the desk. 

“Mr. Strike!” Jackie’s eyes were wide.

“Headache,” groaned Strike, throwing his head back.

“Oh! Oh god – it looks like a migraine!” Jackie said, watching him. “Shall I go get some help?”

Strike could barely register her presence. He was getting close; he tried to keep his hips from stuttering forward. His breath was coming in shallow gasps. He groaned again, trying to warn Robin, trying to withdraw, but he felt her put her hands firmly on his knees, letting him know to stay there. Her hand went back and joined her mouth, and it was too much. He began to come; he felt Robin's mouth tighten around him.

“Fucking hell," he breathed out, his eyes screwing shut, slumping forward onto the desk. 

“I’ll get some water and a pill! Stay right there!” Jackie jumped up and left.

Slowly, Strike regained his sense of time and place. Robin, thrilled with herself and throbbing with desire, saw his head duck down and look at her. He had a wicked grin on his face. 

“Your turn.”


	25. Robin Comes to a Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin comes to realization about Strike and comes across the final clue for the case.

Strike stuck his hand out to Robin as she crawled out from under the desk, pulling her up into his arms. Neither of them said anything; their argument, their near-miss, and what had just happened by the desk all hung in the air between them.

The door opened, and Steve came back in with a glass of water and a bottle of paracetamol. 

“Oh!” He looked at Robin in Strike’s arms, and his eyes took in Strike’s coat lying inside out on the floor. 

“Sorry to interrupt!” he gave them a knowing look. “Jackie sent me in with this for Cormoran?” He held out the bottle.

Robin smiled. “Thanks, Steve. Strike has a headache.” She stole a glance at Strike, who grinned. 

“I just realized after I went out – that computer doesn’t work.” Steve looked apologetic. 

“That’s alright – we got – distracted with something else,” said Robin.

“Anyway – you wanted to see my laptop as well, right? It’s just as well, nobody uses this computer, really, except for maintenance staff. I’ve got it on my desk. Come on, we can go grab it.”

Robin, still flushed from earlier, stepped away from Strike and followed Steve out. She threw a backwards glance at Strike over her shoulder, who smiled at her as he walked over to get his coat.

 

As they left the office party, Steve’s laptop in hand, Robin’s thoughts were racing, her mind making connections and weaving together various threads. The chill night air was cooling her heated state of mind over the evening’s events.

Strike looked over, considering. “So Matt is Linead’s son. And Amelia and Aidan’s half-brother. The question is: did he know they were his siblings?”

“Yeah,” wondered Robin. “And I’m sure that’s a major piece of the puzzle. I’m just not sure how it all fits yet.”

She stopped in the night air, turning to face Strike. “I’m – I’m going to take this laptop and try and get some sleep. I have…a lot to think about. I think we both need a night to sort through our thoughts about…the case.”

Strike studied her. “Okay.” His hand went forward, as if to touch her cheek, but hovered in mid-air. He seemed to reconsider, his hand dropping. “If you need anything, Robin, call.”

Robin looked into his eyes. He was looking at her with an expression on his face she had never seen before: open and slightly vulnerable. She reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Time to go connect the dots,” she smiled, and with a wave, she stepped off towards the Underground station to her shared flat.

 

Despite her claim of needing sleep, Robin had been awake all night, exploring Steve’s laptop for the last piece of the puzzle. Strike, she knew, would have been up as well, turning the case over in his mind. She had needed some space, away from the distraction of him filling her senses. 

Robin had come to a realization last night, and it had still surprised her with its sudden clarity. It had been building gradually, it had kept her comparing every man she met to Strike; it had her questioning her own feelings for years. She was in love with Strike. All the times she had wondered about and ignored her own feelings had finally been overshadowed by the simple, undeniable, truth. The trouble, Robin reflected, was if Strike felt the same way.

She blinked in the late morning sunlight that was streaming into the kitchen and took another sip of tea. Suddenly, in the endless emails she had been scrolling through, she saw what she had been looking for. She opened up the email, her heart pounding. If this is what she thought-

She read quickly, her brain jumping through mental hoops at lightning speed. For a moment, she sat, half-thunderstruck and half-triumphant, then came to a second, more urgent realization. She grabbed her phone and texted Strike. 

_Cormoran – I’ve got it figured out. Meet me at this address:_

_10 Sylvan Road_

_Robin_


	26. The First Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole case comes together; Robin confronts the murderer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been following the case, then here's the part where you get to see if you guessed correctly! I had (almost) the most fun with this chapter - it was really satisfying to have it all come together like I planned. (Mostly.) It's not perfect, but JK Rowling/Robert Galbraith I am not. :D Still, I loved the challenged of doing a mystery and weaving all the threads together. (Freakin' hard, though!)  
> There's still two chapters left after this - but we're almost at the end!

She didn’t have time to find her coat; she raced outside and grabbed a taxi in her jeans the old t-shirt she was wearing. If she could find him, if she could head him off-

The taxi screeched to halt outside the building and Robin leapt out, throwing money through the window at the alarmed driver. “Thanks!”

She raced up the steps and pressed the buzzer. 

“Yeah?” Matt’s voice came through the speaker. He was still there. Robin swallowed her relief.

“Matt?” Robin spoke, cheerfully innocent. It’s Robin Ellacott – we met at Amelia’s party? I was just wondering if you had time to answer a few questions.”

“I’m actually quite busy at the moment.”

“It won’t take long.” Robin waited with bated breath. 

“Alright – if you’re quick.” Matt buzzed her up.

 

“Thanks for seeing me,” Robin said to him, entering the flat. 

“Yeah.” Matt walked with her to the living room, but didn’t offer her a seat. He stood with his arms crossed.

“Matt.” Robin took a deep breath. She had a plan. “Matt, I know you killed Aidan.”

Matt burst out laughing. “God, I didn’t expect you to say _that._ I thought you maybe had a thing for me, after meeting me at the hotel. You came all the way out here on a Saturday because you think I _killed_ Aidan Lowell?”

“And Amelia.”

Matt laughed again. “Alright, Robin. I think you’re officially mad. Too bad – you’re so good-looking.” He looked at her with an amused expression, but Robin thought she saw a flash of panic in his eyes.

“You already hated him, didn’t you? Your father’s golden boy at work? Aidan was being groomed to eventually take over – instead of Linead’s own son, yourself.”

Matt scoffed.

“And then Amelia comes to you with the news that you’re siblings. She’s your sister, and Aidan is your brother. Now not only is Aidan the golden protégé, he’s going to be the golden son.”

Matt wasn’t laughing anymore. He glared at her. “I think you’d better leave before you say anything you really regret.”

“Amelia wanted the three of you to meet, but she had another bad depressive episode and couldn’t make it. But you told Aidan you still wanted to get to know your newfound brother. You made plans to stay at the office and have drinks, late at night.”

Matt was breathing heavily. So was Robin, and she didn’t like the look in his eyes, but she plowed on. “You laced his drink with fentanyl, kept plying him all night, for hours. Aidan’s a trusting guy – he just wanted to make his sister happy and get to know you. It worked. He overdosed and died. It looked like suicide, though it wasn’t.”

“There’s no proof, show me the evidence-“

“No, you hid the evidence in the ceiling panel of Linead’s office, didn’t you? Nobody’s allowed into his office, but you’re his son and the building electrician, so you hid it there to come back and destroy later. The police searched your place – you knew they would search everyone's place who had access to the building, after all, as a precaution – you could be sure they wouldn’t find anything there if it was hidden in Linead's office ceiling. But after the furor surrounding Aidan’s death calmed down, you thought it would be safe to come back.”

“But you ran into something you didn’t expect that night – Strike and I were there as well – so you had to lead us out of the office, then you deactivated the lift, giving yourself the time you needed to destroy the drug bottles and the drinks. You fixed the lift so we could leave, and you thought you were covered - even though you left the panel a little bit disrupted, I noticed on my last visit to Linead's office - you seemed to have covered your tracks.”

“I had!” Matt blurted, then looked even angrier.

“But Amelia suspected you, didn’t she? She knew Aidan had met with you, but she couldn’t prove it. She was having a bad time of it, coming out of an episode only to have her twin brother die. She had hired us, but was barely coherent between her mental state, her medication and her grief. You knew she couldn’t prove anything. Still, you thought you were safe – there was no trail, no evidence. If only Amelia hadn’t also gone to your father, you would have been home free.”

Matt’s face crumpled into an expression between rage and despair. “She was insane. He rejected the whole thing.”

“She had gone to Linead at the same time that she approached you. You’re right – he wasn’t interested in long lost children. At first. But then he changed his mind, after considering things. He had found out he had another son, who he happened to be mentoring at work, and a daughter, only to lose the son right away. He reconsidered and thought he’d at least be a part of Amelia’s life. She began to get a little bit better, with his help. Linead even paid for her hotel room, got her back on medication, and helped her plan a party for her friends. She was going to introduce him, and confront you, at the dinner."

Matt’s face was scowling, ugly. “She isn’t missed. She was nothing but a problem and a drain on my father’s money. I didn’t need her mouthing off her stupid face at people, pointing the finger at me. I needed to shut her up.”

Robin’s adrenaline was running high. Her heart pounded at his confession. 

“So you met up with her in the hotel room – she was already on a bunch of medication – it wasn’t hard to execute the same thing you did with Aidan. In fact, it was even easier, given the drugs already in her system. You knew with her mental history, the police would believe suicide again.”

“Linead had reconnected with her, but he wasn’t ready to let people know he was Aidan and Amelia’s father – especially after they both died so suddenly. How would it look that he was related to two recent deaths? Shocked, grieved - he didn’t say anything to police about his new connection to them.”

“Yeah he fucking didn’t,” Matt said. “And I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

“I know – you were just about to leave to pick him up from the airport, weren’t you?”

“How the fuck do you know-“ Matt began.

“You missed a step, Matt. You wiped the emails between you and Aidan, agreeing to meet up, from the office computers. But you didn’t realize that Aidan had a separate account that he kept secret from his parents, and from Rebecca. He had all his emails automatically sent to it – it was an account he shared with Steve. Nobody knew about it except Steve, but even he didn’t know the password."

Matt snorted. “You’re telling me you guessed his email password? That’s lucky.”

“It was, but I had a feeling his login would be the same as the password his sister tended to use: Ai3079. The first two letters of his first name and their birthdate.” She smiled sadly. “The twin connection.”

“Of course, while going through Steve’s laptop, I came across your email to meet up with him. Doesn't look so good that you and he planned to meet at the office the night he died, does it? Or how about the fact that underneath the office desk that you sometimes used, I found a receipt for prescription painkillers in your name? It had fallen through the cracks of the desk and was caught in the wiring." 

Matt blanched. "I couldn't find it. I thought I had lost it," he whispered, as if to himself.

"I noticed Steve's work calendar on his laptop saying that his boss was arriving home from the airport this morning. I knew I had to get to you before you picked up your dad, and killed again. What was your plan this time, Matt?” She looked at him. “How were you going to kill Linead and hope to get away with it? How did you think that the truth wouldn't come out about Aidan and Amelia?"

Matt looked at her with an expression full of venom. “I murdered them. They didn’t deserve my father’s money any more than they deserved his attention.”

“But for now,” he said, walking towards her menacingly, as Robin backed up away from him, against the kitchen counter, “I think it’s time that I created another accident.”


	27. The Second Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin has to get herself out of a tricky situation; Strike makes a confession of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a few things that I realized might affect your reading of the mystery, which I realized after the fact might not match up. I've tried my best to capture the tone and feel of the characters/series, but I apologize for:  
> a) being Canadian. Ha ha ha! My dad was born in Ireland, and I have relatives in the UK, so I'm not too bad with the slang. But there are times I forgot (I know I slipped up and used "elevator" and "apartment" or whatever at times.) So sorry for any inconsistencies there. :)  
> b) Also, the clue that Robin finds under the desk is a prescription sheet for heavy-duty painkillers in Matt's name. It wouldn't be that hard to convince a doctor that you need painkillers, especially if you have an old injury that acts up. It's another thing that might be different in Canada than in England - the ease of access to that kind of thing. I had also made a note to mention that Matt had an old sports injury from high school, but forgot to put it in. Oops. :D

The flat buzzer sounded. _Strike,_ thought Robin desperately, but he was downstairs, there was no way to let him in.

She had not counted on Matt being desperate enough to kill. She had been prepared on some level for a reaction, but not this violent. Angry, yes, trying to run, maybe – but as he came towards her with a wild look on his face, she horribly regretted confronting him alone. Still, she had a plan-she just had to get past Matt-

The flat buzzer rang again, twice in a row, urgent. 

She was backed up against the kitchen counter. Matt lunged for her; he just caught her arm just as she turned to the side to run, but Robin wrenched free. His nails raked down her arm, then his fingers grasped air as she ran towards the wide living room window. He was two seconds behind her - she just had to get to the window that she knew led to-

Matt caught her from behind; his arms grabbing her around her thighs, toppling them both to the floor. Robin had turned her body sideways, she fell onto her hip, Matt’s arms locked around her calves. She squirmed onto her back, Matt crawling up her body. Robin’s legs kicked out wildly, catching him in the nose. It wasn’t hard enough to do much, but it made him yell and rear back.

“You bloody bitch!” It had bought her the precious seconds she needed: she scrambled up onto her feet and was at the window, throwing her fingers against the latch. She jerked it open, threw herself through it and turned back, slamming it shut on Matt’s fingers, right behind her. She didn’t stop, just turned and raced down the fire escape she knew would be there, her feet flying down the stairs. She heard the window open above her, heard Matt land on the balcony. She kept running, and some part of her brain registered the sounds of another person join Matt and the sounds of a fight; some part of her knew that Matt hadn’t made it as far as the stairs, but she couldn’t stop, she kept racing down, her breath coming in great lungfuls.

Her feet hit the pavement, she could hear the sporadic sirens of parked police cars around the front of the building. She kept running, towards them, around the corner, straight into DI Wardle. 

“Hey!” He caught her by the arms and she stopped, gasping, looking wildly into his face. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Robin, it’s alright, we’re here. Strike called us-” Wardle had her firmly by the elbows, he was talking to her steadily. Robin, weak-kneed, sank to the pavement on her knees, a roaring in her ears. 

Dimly, she was aware of a few more police. She heard voices above her, she felt Wardle gently help her back to her feet and walk with her towards the front of the building, where more police cars and officers were gathered.

She was aware of people talking to her, kindly. Somebody tried to push a coffee into her hand, which she refused. She heard Wardle say to the others, “they got him,” and the horrible knot in her stomach eased slightly. It wasn’t until she saw, coming through the front doors of the building, a tall figure in a dark coat, making his ungainly way through the officers, that Robin felt she could actually breathe.

An officer was talking to Strike, and three more approached him and began crowding around him, but his gaze was locked on Robin. He headed towards her, ignoring the officers, and Robin ran right to him. 

He wrapped his arms around her, embracing her. She buried her face into his chest, breathing in his scent, his warmth. His strong arms tightened around her.

“Fucking Christ, Robin,” said Strike into her hair. “I thought – I thought-“

He took a shaky breath, and Robin looked up at him. 

“I convinced some young guy coming back with his dog to let me in. When I got there and banged the door in, and you weren’t – I just got there to see Matt on the balcony.”

Robin was looking at him, barely hearing him, just drinking in the sight of him. She never wanted to move from his arms. 

“I thought maybe he had pushed you-“ Strike stopped and swallowed, fighting for control. “I thought I had lost you.” 

“I knew there was a fire escape. I checked the building. I know it was stupid, going alone. I didn’t think he would actually get that violent – but the fire escape was my backup.”

Strike looked at her. “That was taking a fucking big risk, Robin. Christ.”

Robin put a hand on his chest. “I know. I just had to get to Matt before he left for the airport – I couldn’t let him get to Linead. I needed to stop him. I recorded it all, Cormoran. I've got the entire thing on my phone.”

They looked at each other, not moving.

“Cormoran-“ said Robin, at the same time that Strike said, “Listen, Robin, I-“

“You go first,” said Robin, grinning.

Strike looked at her and cleared his throat, his expression earnest. “Alright. This is – I hadn’t planned on, just after you’ve been tackled by a-“ 

“Coromoran-“ said Robin, “don’t worry, I-“

“Just – just let me get this out.“ Strike said, stopping her. He took a breath and tried again. “When I thought Matt had pushed you off the balcony, when I thought I had lost you, I went mad. I went after Matt like I was possessed. The fucker didn’t have a chance.” Strike gave her a half-hearted, teasing smile. 

Robin returned it tentatively, heart pounding.

“I just couldn’t lose you again. I couldn’t face it. I mean, I’ve bloody well been through this with you before.” He gave her a slightly rueful look. “But the thing is– and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say it – too long, actually – I love you.”

Robin stared up at him, beaming. She could feel her eyes filling up. Strike started to smile back.

“I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t know what I would do without you. I can’t face any of it without you. I don’t know why it’s take me so long to bloody realize it – what a horrible detective, eh?” 

Robin laughed, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, her heart swelling in her chest.

“Robin, I love you, and I don’t care about the risks anymore – I’m not worried about out work - I want you as a partner, and I want _you._ ”

Robin looked at him, her fingers reaching up and brushing against the stubble on his face. “Do you know how long it took me to realize it myself? That I loved you?” 

She leaned into him, smiling. “What a pair we make,” she said, teasing.

Strike grinned, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not have predicted, when my co-worker convinced me to put this on here, what an incredible/amazing/wonderful time I would have with this. The fact that you read it, paired with the time that you all took to leave comments, is still the biggest mystery of all! You all made it worthwhile - I've had the best week ever while madly writing this - and it's thanks to your kudos and comments.
> 
> THANK YOU for every kind word and piece of encouragement - now I'm going to:  
> a) read all the stuff you guys have written, because I've just started and it's sooooo good already  
> b) watch the Three Musketeers, because I haven't seen it and, well, obviously I need to  
> c) write more scenarios - little mini-chapters, I guess? because a lot of things didn't quite make it into this looooong story, plus Strike still owes Robin for that little adventure under the desk. ;)


End file.
